“People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle.” ― Thích Nhất Hạnh

These days, I have been feeling...content. I think that, to be learning and to be challenged mentally again, that is very nourishing to me. At the end of September, my dad and I drove from Minnesota out to Oregon with my bike and banjo for me to begin my masters program through the Oregon State University Forest Ecosystems and Society department. If you know from previous posts or from conversations, it was a dreadfully difficult experience for me to find and ultimately decide on a program. I had many worries about my ultimate decision. Everything seemed to be such a huge compromise, and I feared that I had resigned myself to research and to a trajectory that was not what was in my heart. Although my program thus far has not been perfect, nor is my research finalized or likely to be precisely what my background or future interests are, I have been learning. I have been learning a lot. Which is something to be grateful for. Very few have the chance to devote themselves to learning for any given time. To be expected to learn, and provided resources. And I have made it my goal while here, if nothing else, to learn as much as I can about everything that I can.

I won't write too much about my experience here thus far, for the moment. It is all an interesting, amusing, stressful, and memorable story -- to this point, involving my dad and I driving out, searching for an apartment, the inevitable separation (and my sadness at leaving Minnesota and my family), the start of courses, getting to know the community of incoming students and professors in the department, and getting my feet on the ground. All sorts of adventures, and mishaps. That will be for another day.

Now, I am living on my own again, which I very much enjoy. I have my own cozy apartment, and it is, miraculously in exactly the part of the town of Corvallis I had hoped. That is, it is on the northern side which is near to the forest (the Mcdonald Research Forest). The trails are a short trot up the hill from me, and I can disappear into this forest, running and gazing and thinking, for hours at a time. This has also aided my slowly growing feelings of contentedness.

But suffice to say, I am feeling...happy. I am still yearning for Hokkaido, and for Japan, and the people I met there and sometimes this is overwhelming. Not only for Hokkaido, but I often become lost in memories that are painfully happy places to be--painful because these are now memories only, which saddens me. They are intangible. Moments I can never return to in full. Yet I am now able to bring bright smiles from these memories, and look to the future, thankful for what they have given me and how they have influenced me. Thus, I am in other regards feeling unusually...whole. And feeling grateful to be learning and for the opportunities of the present. My mind is waking up again.

Indeed I would guess that, for years up until recent years, I was unhappy. There were only sparks of happiness along the way, or certain things that brought me happiness and punctuated a mist of discontent that I was only narrowly aware of (or did not wish to contemplate if I could avoid it.) I perhaps, stubbornly, did not wish to reveal it to others or to myself even if it was, likely, quite apparent on my face. Such is the case for many, to be unhappy or unaware of their unhappiness--and many have dealt with far more than I ever have. My time in Japan and gaining independence and adventurousness, this began to cure some of this without my even knowing. I realized with confusion, now and then along the way: "this, this is happiness," and understood suddenly that I had rarely felt it fully (only, really, in muted form). I am not a very loud or exuberantly expressive person when it comes to enjoyable experiences or exciting moments. I am rather subdued, which is likely my natural temperament regardless. But perhaps in the past, I seemed more coldy reserved even if I have always been willing to offer a smile. I was very careful and self-conscious. Yet increasingly, I have very, very genuine smiles to offer. Smiles that are not just to make others happy, but regardless of what I am facing, reflect my own tentative happiness as well. I tend to carry a lot of sorrow and worries with me, deep down, but now it is not such a weight. These sorrows are what they are, but I carry them perhaps more gently now (you only live once, after all and better to take joy!). I think, once, I was very stiff. I felt very uncomfortable. Very shy and very unsure. Now, I am quite glad to be myself. I quite like being me, flaws be what they may.

I also feel much gratitude to many, many people. Each person who offers me friendship...that means a lot to me. I am rather different, rather quiet (at least historically), prone to reclusiveness, I suppose... and so sometimes, I am confused and indeed very, very surprised why I might be liked at all. Perhaps this is also due to spending many younger years not so much un-liked as unnoticed in school. I am not particularly special or remarkable in any way. I am not especially kind, or intelligent, or creative, though I try to be so. Yet, I think, maybe, people might like me more these days because I am more comfortable as myself. Who can be sure?

I am very grateful for the past, for the present, and for the future-- a gratitude that sits as a warmth in my heart.

“Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.” ― Thích Nhất Hạnh